The Diary of Abigail Reed, Daughter of Athena
by miller123456789
Summary: What if there was a Great Prophecy before Percy's? - It was 1935. The Great Depression was in full swing, and the orphanages were packed. Everything was always the same: we got up in the morning, did the same things each day, and went to bed hungry most nights. But on December 13, 1935, my whole life changed forever.
1. December 12, 1935

_NYC Girl's Home for the Orphaned  
>New York City, New York<br>December 12, 1935_

To be honest, I don't know how to write a diary. I've never tried, but how hard can it be? I'm not a diary person, and I probably never will be. I don't talk about my feelings, and I prefer not to think about them at all. I diary doesn't have to be just feelings and secrets, I suppose. It can be simply thoughts.

I think in words most of the time and even sometimes come out of deep thought to realize that I have been talking to myself.

There.

I suppose I do know how to write a diary. I never thought I would, though, but the strangest thing happened today:

I escaped from the orphanage and ran to Central Park. I was sitting in a large tree, peeling the flaky bark off of the tree. A girl about my age sprinted through the woods. Why an eight or nine year old would worry me is a mystery to some people. For one, she was small for our age, but she was still _much_ taller than me. Second, her parents could have been right behind her.

She grabbed onto one of the lower branches of the very tree I was in and began clambering up. I was too high to jump, and if I tried to climb down, she would hear me. I pulled my legs up, closed my eyes, and prayed she wouldn't see me. Suddenly, the rustling stopped, and I opened my eyes to find her right in front of me.

"Don't worry Abbey," she assured me. "I'm not going to rat you out to anyone. I just wanted to give you something."

"How do you know my name?"

She did not answer. Instead, she held out a small book bound in leather.

I wasn't assured. I skeptically took the book and flipped through the pages.

"This book is blank," I replied.

"That's because you fill it in. I know you think you have no story to tell, but trust me. It won't be. Something will soon happen to you something… important and… interesting. Promise me you'll write all of it down."

"I promise," I replied, but to be honest, I wasn't so sure.

I heard someone near. Down below us was one of the orphanage volunteers.

"They'll catch me!" I whispered, but the girl was gone.

And they did. Luckily for me, Ayanna pulled a huge stunt, and Miss Moore never had a chance to deal with me. My luck must be lifting after all.


	2. December 13, 1935

_Somewhere around New York City_ (I think)

_December 13, 1935_ (I hope)

Orphans know how to take care of themselves. That can be a great thing, or a bad thing.

There's hardly enough food to go around. If we manage to get out, we can't let anyone know where we're from. The workers and the other orphans aren't exactly understanding or compassionate. We learn to lie, steal, fight, and fend for ourselves.

We know how to keep our emotions in check. I was only seven when my best friend Rosemary died. She ran away and was shot by a gangster. I never let anyone see me shed a tear; that doesn't mean I never did.

* * *

><p>I woke up about three in the morning to the sound of the other kids bickering.<p>

"I'm going to do it," Ayanna said matter-of-factly. "And there's not _squat_ you can say to stop me!"

"You'll get us all in trouble."

"She's gonna beat you 'till you're as red as an Indian!"

"You're all still alive."

Mary sighed sighed. "When the crone's not looking, you open the door and run into the street. You don't exactly need a college degree."

And these girls wonder why they always get caught.

"Actually," I interceded, "you may not need a college degree, but it actually takes a bit of thought."

"Sure." She walked out of the room and down the stairs, careful not to let them creak.

Little Paige looked very upset. "Ayanna's gonna tell her you told her to run away."

I shook my head. "Do you think I'm scared of that old witch?"

When morning came, Miss Moore set off her school bell to wake us up.

She walked over and hissed at me to get up. I did, a little confused, and she grabbed my long hair. "Downstairs. Now!"

I walked down the stairs to her office, convincing myself I was not afraid.

When Miss Moore came in, she pulled up a chair and pushed me into it. "Alright, Missy, I don't want you to ever do this again." She walked around the chair, but forced me to face forward.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied in defiance.

"You told Ayanna to run away!"

"I didn't."

"Rotten orphan," Miss Moore muttered.

"I'm not an orphan," I replied simply.

She laughed but it was more like a cackle. "That was 1926! This is 1935. You're an orphan."

Wham! The side of my head throbbed where she had smacked me with the yardstick. She repeated it at least eight times. It stung like a thousand bees, but I knew that if I cried, or struggled, or did anything, she would only punish me more. She continued until my head had begun to bleed.

She stood in front of me and smiled sweetly. "Have you learned your lesson, my angel?"

I struggled to sound more confident than I felt. "Yes, ma'am." I was lying, and we both knew it.

She hit me in the head one more time, but this was much harder. So hard, I fell out of the chair and hit my head on the floor. Everything went black.

When I woke up, I was lying on the cold floor of the upstairs closet.

I looked around and held back a scream when I spotted a spider crawling toward me. I forced myself not to look at it. Suddenly, I heard muffled talking.

"Why on earth would you want to be this twit's moll?" Miss Moore was saying.

"His name is Jack," her sister said. Miss Moore's sister, Martha, drove me, and the rest of the girls, completely mad.

Then a voice who must have been Jack said, "In a couple days, we'll be rich."

"Martha, you're such a gold-digger," Miss Moore scolded.

"Like you can talk, with all you take from those little orphans!"

"Alright," Jack said suspiciously, "here's what we're gonna do: I'm gonna kidnap those rotten orphans and hold 'em for ransom. Then, we're gonna pray the cops don't find me. If they don't, the public will go ballistic if they leave a bunch of little orphans to a guy who escaped from jail."

There was a pause. "How did you get out, anyway?" Miss Moore asked.

That's what was wrong about that sentence?

"Conned a cop."

Miss Moore gave an annoyed sigh like she did when she was exasperated. "How much are you going to make this ransom?"

"For all five hundred of 'em? Five thousand."

I'm nobody's ransom.

As I was looking I noticed a faint line on the celling in the shape of a square. I grabbed a broom, and I climbed up the shelves. I lost my footing and fell flat on my back. I landed on the floor with a thud, and someone kicked the door. The wind was knocked out of me, but in a few minutes, I tried again. I hit the square with the handle of the broom several times. Yes! Yes! Please! The square popped up, and I pushed it out of the way with the broom. Through the hole, I could see the orange-colored sky as the sun set on the horizon.

I stood up on the top of the set of shelves, and I pulled myself through the hole up onto the roof of the building. I scouted around and found a ladder that I had never noticed before. I was in too much of a rush to dwell on it, or care for that matter. I went down the ladder as fast as I could and took off running. The icy wind numbed my arms, and the ground felt freezing beneath my feet. (Sense we never went anywhere, Miss Moore was scandalized at the thought of any of us needing shoes or coats.)

After about twenty blocks, I heard a voice.

"Hey, you!"

The policeman grabbed me by the sleeve, but the dress was so old and worn, that when I pulled against his grip, the sleeve ripped near my elbow, and I kept running.

I ran along the sidewalk because I didn't need to run so fast because there were so many people to slow him down. He couldn't weave his way in and out of people the way I could.

After running about two blocks, I turned left and bumped into a teenage boy, dressed somewhat like a gangster.

"Sorry," I said, egger to get going.

He grabbed me by my arms and looked me in the eyes.

Suddenly, the boy was gone, and I was surrounded by spiders. There were thousands of them. I couldn't move. My heart seemed to have stopped. This couldn't be real. I screamed and tried to kick and swat at them, but there were too many.

As quickly as it had come, it was gone. There was no living creature in sight except the teenage boy.

He smirked, but with an evil look in his eye. "Spiders? Seriously? That's so common, so boring. Let's see what we can do about that." He vanished into thin air.

This was getting downright bizarre, and I was beginning to be very afraid. I can keep my emotions in check, but that isn't extremely hard when the emotional challenge is always the same.

I glanced around and kept running. I turned right, and someone pulled me into an alley. I tried to scream, but the person put a gloved hand over my mouth. He pulled me into a dark corner.

The captor pulled out a knife, and he put it not a centimeter to my throat.

"Try to run and you'll regret it."

My mind and my heart were racing. I felt sick to my stomach. My palms were sweaty. I could hardly stand.

For once in my life, I didn't know what to do. I tried to calm down, but I couldn't. I looked at that knife, and I felt hot tears running down my checks. It was all over. I would die, here in a dark corner of this alley, in the only city I ever called home.

No, I thought, I'm not going to die. It's just this twit trying to scare me.

I brought my hand up to my neck, as if I was protecting it from the knife.

As quickly as I could, I grabbed his wrist, pushed it away, and took off running. I ran as fast and as far as I could. I felt as if the ground was being pulled from under my feet. When I was nearly out of breath, I ducked into in alley and bumped into someone. The woman quickly turned into a monster with leathery wings like bat, sharp claws, a mouth full of yellow fangs, glowing red eyes, and fiery whips. I simply stared for a moment, then screamed bloody murder.

Two more of these monsters emerged from the shadows. They were not just walking into view; it was as if they were literally coming out of the shadows.

There was a moment of silence. Then they attacked. They slashed at me with their whips, which felt like molted lead.

It couldn't have lasted more than a minute, but to me it seemed like an hour.

All three of them cackled. I, on the other hand, was on the ground in a pool of my own blood.

All of a sudden, one of the monsters exploded into yellow dust. The remaining two turned to face a figure holding a sword that gleamed in the shadows. The monsters attacked him. He took his sword, and in no time at all, the other monsters became piles of dust too.

A girl several years younger than him ran into the alley and knelt at my side. I was too exhausted and light-headed to do more than look at her.

She looked up the boy. "Cedric," she said, "she could be the one."

Her voice sounded miles away

"Quiet, Sophie," he replied, "We'll have plenty of time to worry about that later. Right now, we have to get her to camp.

Then everything went black.

I felt as if I had barely blinked when I found myself lying on a bed. I stood up and walked to the door to see if it was locked, which it was. I stumbled around the room to see if there was anything I could pick a lock with, which there wasn't.

The clock read almost midnight. I think it is still the 13th of December, but I can't be sure. The slash on my arm is nothing but a long faint scar. It can't be the 13th, can it? No injury like that heals so quickly.


	3. December 14, 1935

_Camp Half-Blood  
>Long Island, New York<br>December 14, 1935_

I gasped as my eyes flew open.

"I'm sorry!" a girl said suddenly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

I sat up and turned to face the girl from the alley last night. She had light-brown bobbed hair. She looked about fifteen. She was gentle and graceful, but protective.

"My name is Sophia, but everyone calls me Sophie. What's your name?"

"Abbey," I replied quietly. She flinched.

"Are you alright?" she asked, smiling again.

"Fine," I replied suspiciously. In reality, I was terrified, and my mind was going a mile a minute.

"Here these are for you." She lifted up a wool coat and buckled leather shoes, both of which were too big for me.

"I know they're big, but trust me, you won't be embarrassed. A lot of the children here don't have those either."

I took the shoes and coat and tried them on. I thanked her.

"Are the children here orphans?"

She paused. "Well, no. Not technically."

Technically...

"What's the date?" I asked.

"It's December fourteenth."

"But the cut on my arm was just made yesterday evening, and now there isn't anything but a scar," I explained.

She pursed her lips. "I'll tell you later," she said. "There are some other things that need to be explained first."

She led me down the stairs and onto a huge porch. We sat down at one of those wrought-iron tables, the elegant, cheap Italian kind they have in ice cream parlors. On the table was a tall drink that looked like iced apple juice.

She told me to drink it, so, a little hesitantly, I did. I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice or something of the like. It wasn't that at all. It was more like ice cream.

"What does it taste like?"

I told her. "Why am I here?" I'm not one to beat around the bush.

She pursed her lips and looked down. "Come on. Chiron is waiting."

Could this girl give a straight answer?

As we walked around to the opposite end of the house, my heart stopped at the beauty of the country side. Living in the city my whole life, this was only something I saw in books.

The valley seemed to roll into the water, which rolled back to the land about a mile in the distance. The landscape was dotted with Greek style buildings: an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, and a circular arena. They all looked beautifully new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. Canoes glided across a small lake. (What scared me was that some of them had goat legs.) Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, a man in a wheelchair sat at a card table. He had thinning hair and a scruffy bread and a frayed tweed jacket, which smelled like coffee.

"Welcome to Camp-Half Blood! Take a seat. Sophia, please, leave this young lady and me to ourselves."

Once she was gone, he turned to me. I prepared to introduce myself, but he spoke first.

"What could you tell me about myths? As in ancient mythology, specifically Greek."

Not much. I heard a story or two at the orphanage, but nothing I could use to say I was knowledgeable on the subject.

"I couldn't tell you much," I admitted.

He looked disappointed. "It really does not matter if you know much about it, as long as you know this: gods - the gods of those myths - are very much alive."

I was waiting for him to combust with laughter, but all he did was stare into my eyes.

His eyes, I thought, they could be a thousand years old.

"I beg your pardon?"

He stared at me for a moment.

"What is _Western Civilization_?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, it's a concept of the newest technology and the newest ideas about how our world works and how it should work. It represents change, like how the world was changed forever when the Western Hemisphere was discovered."

He looked partially satisfied and partially disappointed.

"That's one of the more intelligent answers, but it's not just an abstract concept. It's a force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years.

"The gods are part of it. Some debate that they are the source of it, but anyhow, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade or be destroyed, not unless all of Western civilization was destroyed. The fire started in Greece, and the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. And now they are in the United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. The Greek facades of the government buildings in Washington. America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"We?"

"Yes."

"Olympus was in Greece."

"Yes, there's Mount Olympus. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, just as the gods do."

None of this made any sense, and even if it did, there was no way it could be true.

"How foolish of me! I give that whole, long speech, and I don't even ask you your name."

"My name is Abigail," I replied. "Abbey Reed."

"Pardon?" He said it in a shocked tone, as if he had heard what I said but refused to believe it.

"Abigail," I repeated. "Abigail Reed."

"You..." His eyes were wide. "You should be dead."

That took me by surprise. What was that supposed to mean?

"I should be dead?" I questioned.

"Yes, you heard me correct," he said. "So, Miss Abigail, would you mind telling me where you're from."

"For as long as I can remember, I've lived in an orphanage in New York City," I supplied.

"This is not good," he said. "This is really not good."

"No. No, it's not."

I nearly jumped out of my skin as someone appeared behind me. She was tall and graceful with long hair the color of chocolate, braided in plaits with gold ribbons. She wore a simple white dress, but when she moved, the fabric shimmered with colors like oil on water.

"You are correct, Chiron. This is most certainly 'not good.'"

"Ahh, Queen Hera, I presume you are here about our... situation."

Situation?

"Yes," she replied, "But I have another matter to address first." She turned to me. Her eyes radiated power. "Leave this young lady to me."

"Of course," he replied. He wheeled himself inside the house, and once he was gone, fear moved into my heart, but the walls kept it out. _Leave this young lady to me. _This woman's looking at me felt like a spider crawling up my spine.

"You don't believe a word he said."

I did not believe what he said, but I had a feeling that she would try to prove it. But if I lied and said that I did, what would she do to me? A small part of me wondered, What if the things he said are true?

No, the sane part of me replied, it can't be.

"I can't say I do."

Without warning, my hair brushed itself, and the coat and shoes tailored themselves to fit me perfectly. How was that possible?

I stood up and quickly backed away.

"Mortals." She laughed. "So timid."

I wiped the frightened expression off my face.

"What's wrong, darling?"

I spoke carefully, not showing my fear. "You say mortal as if you're... not."

She smiled. "That would be correct, but you mustn't be so frightened."

I didn't say a word. I couldn't process what she was saying. I could process it just fine; believing it that was the problem.

This isn't true, I told myself. I slowly stepped toward her. "Are you implying that you are immortal?"

Again, she only laughed at my hesitation.

"I... I don't understand."

"I think you understand it perfectly. Believing it is the issue." She paused. "Come over here. Don't be afraid."

I slowly walked toward her, and she gently pushed me into the chair I had been sitting in.

"Listen to me," she said, grabbing my jaw, "very closely. Your mother isn't dead. She's one of the Olympians. In fact, this camp is for their children."

"Olympian as in gods and goddesses of Olympus?"

She nodded. "Athena, the goddess of wisdom and strategy to be exact."

"But..."

"Don't deny it. Haven't you ever felt like you didn't belong? Or have strange things happening?"

I thought for a moment.

"Once, I was lying on the floor crying, and this woman appeared. She told me not to cry and not to worry. She looked so familiar. I was sure I knew her, but I'm certain I haven't seen her before or sense. And-"

I was about to tell her about the girl who gave me this journal and disappeared -literally- when she interrupted me.

"Did she have long, black hair and gray eyes?"

"How did you know?"

"Abigail... that was your mother."

No, that's not possible. How could that be?

I closed my eyes and shook my head mutely. I blinked back tears.

"I have to go," she said sadly. "Be careful."

There was a small flash of light, and she was gone.

Sophie came running up the steps. "Are you alright? You look like you've been crying."

"Fine," I lied.

"It's time for dinner," she said. As soon as she said it, a horn blew in the distance.

As we walked to the pavilion, I saw the girl from the park sitting at the fire tending to the flame.

"Who's that?" I asked pointing.

"What are you talking about?"

"At the fire!"

"Abbey, there's no one sitting at the fire."

Yet, there was the girl, waving at me as if we were old friends.

We walked up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. The boys with goat legs joined us from the meadow. Girls emerged from the canoeing lake. Some other girls came out of the woods, and when I say out of the woods, I really mean it. There was one girl, about ten years old who melted from the side of a maple tree and came skipping up the hill.

At the mess hall, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier.

We sat down at one of about a dozen tables.

Chiron stood to one side, but from the waist down, he was a huge white stallion.

"I'm hallucinating right? Please tell me he's riding the horse."

She laughed.

"Chiron is a centaur," Sophie explained.

"What about the boys with goat legs?"

"Satyrs."

"And the girls who came out of the lake?"

"Naiads."

"And the trees?"

"Dryads."

Chiron pounded his hoof and raised his glass. "To the gods."

Everyone else raised their glass and repeated his words.

Mine was empty, and I asked Sophie where to get something to drink.

"Just speak to it."

I gave her a strange look. I asked for water, and to my great surprise, it filled itself.

We passed around trays of food, and I loaded my plate. I hadn't eaten since dinner two days ago, and I had never in life seen so much food, and there are less than a hundred children here, and there are about five-hundred at the orphanage. I was about to take a bite, when I noticed everyone was getting up and walking to the fire in the center of the pavilion.

"Come on," Sophie told me.

As we neared the fire, I saw everyone taking a portion of their meal and dropping it in the fire.

"Burnt offerings for the gods," Sophie whispered. "They like the smell."

I looked at her over my shoulder. "What?"

She gave me a look that told me not to take this lightly, but I couldn't help but wonder why anyone would like the smell of burning food.

I'm a daughter of Athena. I should be dead. Girls live in trees, and boys are part goat. The Olympians want us to burn our food, because they like the smell. Sure. Why not?

Finally, it was my turn. _To my mother._

The wind blew a puff of smoke toward me, but I didn't recoil. It smelled nothing like smoke. It smelled of apple pies, flower gardens, fresh milk, and lots of good things that should bad together but weren't

During the meal, I noticed the other campers stealing glances at us.

"Why is everyone staring?"

"It's not every day we get a new camper," Sophie replied. "You're the third this week, and the other two have been claimed!"

"Claimed?"

Sophie nodded. "A god has to send a sign saying a demigod is their child, but Athena claims her children at birth. It could take years. The unclaimed campers definitely envy us. Anyway, claiming is a big deal. A person is envied if they get claimed in six months. But on the first day? They better watch out."

After the meal, we all sat around the campfire and chatted. A few came up to me and started asking questions, and I answered as quickly as I could. I wasn't in the mood for chatting, and I could tell Sophie's wasn't either.

We were all waking to the cabins when Chiron grabbed my arm and pulled my out of the earshot of everyone else.

"Your mother left this for me," he said. "She said it was for someone special, and I would know the person when I saw him."

He opened his palm to reveal a gold bracelet, which he slipped onto my wrist.

"She also said that only that person would be able to use it, and figuring it out would be a snap. Then she laughed, so I think that was a play on words."

Snap. I did the first thing that came to mind: snapped my fingers. My fingers were forced open as the bracelet shot into my hand, but it wasn't a bracelet anymore- it was a knife, at least eighteen inches long.

"Use it well," Chiron said. "A knife is only for the bravest, quickest, and most clever warriors. I have a feeling you're pretty clever."

"Thank you."

Here I am, Cabin Six, Camp Half-Blood, Long Island, New York. The mother I never met is a goddess. What of my father, I'm not sure, but I will find out.


	4. December 15, 1935

_Meds Drugstore  
>Des Moines, Iowa<em>

_December 15, 1935_

In the morning, as Sophie and I were walking to breakfast, our hands and feet were tied without a soul coming near us. We both were unable to stand. Sophie tumbled into the snow, and as I was about to do the same, two tough hands clasped my neck.

"Tell me where it is," the man said.

Only then did I realize that Sophie's mouth was gagged and mine was not. The others out and about stopped what they were doing and pointed.

I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Then why are you so afraid?"

"Who says I am?" I asked calmly. To say I was terrified would be the understatement of the century.

"This pulse of yours tells a different story." I cried out as he squeezed even harder.

Then a thought occurred to me that I was too scared to think of before.

I took a deep breath and felt my heart pounding. Then I screamed, like I had never screamed before.

He clasped his hand over my mouth and said to me, "In a moment," he began slowly, "I will let go. When I do, you will tell me where it is or I will kill you."

When he let go, I stammered that I had no idea what he was talking about and that I had nothing to do with it.

"Oh stop your crying," he demanded. "If you would do as I say, there wouldn't be anything to cry about."

"I would if I could!"

I heard a strike of lightning and everything went to black.

* * *

><p>The dream was too vivid to be just a dream.<p>

Massive columns held a domed ceiling. The sunrise showed across it as if there was no ceiling at all. The room was much too colossal to be held up by those columns alone. There sat twelve lavish chairs around a central hearth. One looked like a fishing chair; I had never seen one, but I assumed given the fishing pole attached to the armrest. One of the others seemed to be made out of solid platinum. Another, gold, and another, silver. Only these four were occupied.

At the head, was a man who undoubtedly was the leader, by his place at the head, his demeanor, his proud and grim expression, and how the others spoke to him. The man next to him, in the fisherman's chair, was clearly his brother. He had the same commander-in-chief demeanor and did not speak to anyone as his superior. They had the same black hair and well-trimmed beards. The former had rainy gray eyes and wore a pinstriped suit. The latter's green eyes held a rebellious look. He wore a Palm Beach suit and hat.

On separate sides of the room, sat two others. The boy was 17 or 18. He wore loafers and slacks, and a plain white shirt was tucked in with the sleeves rolled up. A brown hat sat on top of his sandy blond hair. The girl couldn't have been more than 12. Her auburn hair fell around her shoulders. Her silver-yellow eyes spoke for themselves: _Don't you dare try anything on me_.

"What is wrong with you?" she screeched.

The man at the head looked at her with anger and confusion.

"It would do you well to _not_ interrupt my business, Artemis." I drew a breath in. When he spoke, I realized he was the one who attacked us.

Her eyes flickered like the fire. "And it would do _you_ well not to randomly attack those I preside over," she replied.

The man in the fisherman's chair spoke up. "I agree-" As he was interrupted, the look on his face made it clear he wished to continue.

"Poseidon, you would agree with anyone who disagreed with me," our attacker said.

He cocked his head and nodded, as if considering the idea. "True, true," Poseidon agreed. He suddenly glared at his brother. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, _Lord Zeus_: something must be done, but you cannot go attacking children whenever you feel like it. I like Athena a whole less than you do, but even I must admit, thievery is not her nature."

Artemis continued. "And she would certainly not use her children to do it!"

Zeus seemed to ponder the thought. "Apollo, you have been oddly quiet."

"Nothing short of a miracle," Artemis muttered, plopping back into her chair.

Everyone stared to the young man in the back.

He began slowly. "I think... that Athena could do it but she wouldn't. She could out-wit all of us." Zeus and Poseidon raised their eyebrows, as if to question this. Artemis, in turn, raised her eyebrows at them.

The speaker continued. "Yes, yes, the evidence points to her-"

"She would not be so careless!" Artemis finished.

"Exactly. She has the ability and motive to do it _and_ to cover it up, but she wouldn't be so... rash. She wouldn't do something like this."

"She would!" Zeus boomed standing up. The echoes continued throughout the large, relatively empty room.

"If so." Artemis stood up as well, her body-language screaming courage, her expression unwavering. "She would have nine years ago."

* * *

><p>When I woke up, I was on a couch and Sophie and Chiron were arguing nearby. If you can call it arguing.<p>

I didn't sit up or look at them. I wanted them to continue; I wanted to hear.

"If you would just listen, sir, please!"

"I am listening, child. I understand your points. And I completely agree with them. However, _you_ have to understand," he paused, "that I don't have a choice."

"I know, but couldn't you-"

"No."

"What if-"

"No."

She gasped like she had just had a brilliant idea.

"How about-"

"Absolutely not!"

"Chiron!"

"There is nothing I can do. End of story."

Sophie's breath was shaky and unsteady. "You're right. _End of story._ For them."

"Yes, and I can't do anything about that," he replied. His voice was calm but cold.

There was a long silence.

"Well?"

"This isn't right," she said. "This isn't fair. They're _children_."

In the stillness, dread hang in the air.

Chiron's voice was gentle but without sympathy. "My dear Sophia, I would have thought that _you_ of all people would understand that _life_ isn't fair."

After a moment he whispered something inaudible to her.

"Couldn't you do something? Anything!" she begged softly. Her breath was shaky. "Couldn't you reason with them?"

"Say the last three words again."

"Reason with them-." She made a small noise like she wanted to laugh, but couldn't. "How can you laugh at a time like this?"

He chuckled gingerly and the sympathy returned to his voice. "Sophie, have faith. The child will live to be thirteen. After that. Well, I'm not sure."

After a short silence she whispered, "What if not?"

He did not reply.

"What if not?" she repeated. "What if they fail?"

He still did not reply.

"Chiron," she whispered calmly, breaking the silence. "Please."

"If they were to fail..." he began slowly, "and I were you... I would be more worried about myself."

"Why?" she asked quickly, as if the word could burn her mouth if she took too long to say it.

I couldn't take it anymore. Very slowly, I opened my eyes and sat up. They stood face-to-face. Sophie was slowly backing away from him.

"Sophia," he said delicately as trotted to her. "They plan on arresting you and your siblings."

She drew in a sharp breath. "No," she whispered. "No, you're lying!"

"I wish," he sighed.

That was when she noticed me. She calmly walked over and sat on the sofa beside me.

"Abbey," she whispered.

Chiron trotted behind her and put a hand on each of her shoulders. "Don't frighten her."

"The girl will be scared out of her skin soon enough."

The three of us turned around to see, leaning against a wall, the young man from my dream.

Chiron was the first to speak. "To which of the girls were you referring?"

"Does it matter?"

He walked over with pomp and pride. "Ah, the beautiful Sophia Sage. How nice to see you again."

As he reached out to touch her cheek, she jerked away.

Apollo laughed. "Jumpy, are you?"

Chiron, whose hands were still on Sophie's shoulders, slowly began to lift his hands.

Deathly pale, she closed her eyes. She spoke so calmly, not as if she was afraid or masking fear, but as if she didn't know how much more she could take. "Don't, please."

He put his hands back. "Sophie," he said with sympathy.

For a long time, she did not move.

Chiron cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Lord Apollo? I was informed your sister, Lady Artemis, was to be here as well?"

His face darkened and his voice became cold. "She was thrown in the same dungeon as Athena and Hera. For refusing to come with me."

I looked to Chiron who put a finger to his lips, then to Apollo who held up a hand.

Great. _Be quiet and wait._ My least two favorite things.

Abruptly, she gasped for air and her eyes shot open. She coughed uncontrollably and put her face in her hands as she tried to return to her previous state.

Chiron whispered something in her ear and led her away.

Apollo turned to me. "Do you have any idea what you're up against? The weapons-"

He was about to continue when Sophie returned. Chiron was not with her.

I asked her if she was alright; she smiled and replied, "Of course," but it was clear she was not. Apollo raised his eyebrows but she pretended not to notice. He turned his attention to her.

"Hey sweetheart, you tell me why you think I'm here."

Her eyes flashed and she began to back away. "To take me away? To throw me in some dark dungeon like they did to my mother?"

He looked at her as if considering her. "I'm supposed to be. My sister was thrown in prison by her own father because she refused to have a hand in capturing you. Her last request was for me to protect you."

Sophie was shocked; her eyes widened. "I... I'm speechless."

"I'm sending you to stay with her hunters."

"Where are they, sir?"

He grinned and spread his arms. "Mackinac Island."

"Why?" I asked.

Sophie put her lips to my ear. "Immortals are strange. They will do whatever they please."

"Ok."

I still didn't understand why a group of immortal girls would be on a vacation island when the end of the world might happen.

"But you're willing to go?" Apollo asked her

She smiled calmly but was at a loss for words. "I appreciate the risk you're taking... and... I realize how dangerous it is..." She trailed off.

"Go ahead."

She sighed. Her voice was wispy and abnormally calm. "How can I sit back and do nothing when my own sister and those other innocent children are forced to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders?"

He waited a moment to respond. He smiled at her sympathetically. "Because there is no choice."

Her eyes seemed to calculate every possible solution to the problem. I could see that her search came up dry. She seemed to be glaring, but not at anyone in particular. I smirked to myself; maybe we were related after all.

"Exactly," he said.

This seemed to startle her. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

He laughed. "Like a mother, like a daughter, sweetheart."

Sophie suddenly found an extreme interest in the floorboards.

Apollo walked over to her and whispered, "Have you ever met your mother?"

"Only once," she replied. "But I didn't know who she was."

"All things in good time, my dear. And a good time for all things."

She smiled.

Apollo grinned. "As for Abbey, you will lead the quest to find the weapons."

As usual, I didn't know what he meant. "Sir, what does that mean?"

"The weapons of the Big Three," he announced, "Zeus's Master Bolt, Poseidon's trident, and Hades' Helm of Darkness. Their power is unimaginable."

I had no idea what to think. "That's what Zeus thinks our mother stole?"

"Precisely. Are you ready, Sophie?"

She was jolted out of her thinking. "Right now?"

"No, sweetheart, next summer. Of course, right now."

Apollo held out his hand. Sophie looked to Chiron for what to do. She was as white as a sheet, as if all the dangers had just become real to her.

"It is your choice. You can go into hiding, but if you are caught, you will certainly be killed. You can turn yourself in, where you will be locked away until this passes, which I am certain it will. Assuming you do not die of disease or hunger, you will _most_ _likely_ live." He did not sound sure. His eyes held a kind of melancholy as if he were determining the kind of wood that would be best for her coffin.

She glanced between the three of us. "There is no choice." For a moment, time seemed to stop. She took Apollo's outstretched hand. Within a second they were gone.

Chiron did not look at me. "I have someone you need to meet."

He walked out the front door, and shortly after, a girl walked out, about fifteen. Her short, curly blond hair beautifully framed her face. She had striking crystal-blue eyes.

"I'm Avalon."

She was full of life and lightheartedness and a little all over the place.

I kept my chin up and tried to look smug. "Abbey Reed."

She invited me to sit on the floor by fire. We put blankets around our shoulders and let out our hands toward the fire. We sat close and the fire was large and hot, yet I was freezing and shivering.

"Oh, you're just as jumpy as that sister of yours," she teased. "Just relax."

I said nothing. I thought of all the reasons she could have been there, and only shivered more. She put an arm around my shoulder.

"I'm not _afraid_; I fear I may be _ill_."

"Listen, I need you to not panic,-"

Suddenly her grip tightened. I pulled slightly away from her and looked up at her. I had not been so terrified in a very long time. I tried to scream but nothing came out. Her eyes glowed green. She spoke in three-part harmony.

"_You will go to the land of the deceased,_

_To find the weapons and bring them back east,_

_Belonging to the most powerful of all the gods,_

_You will find the most unexpected odds,_

_The two great rivals on the same side,_

_Learn to fight together or fall down to pride."_

Her grip loosened and she fell to the floor.

I screamed as Chiron placed his hand on my shoulder. He pulled me to my feet before inviting me to sit at the small table.

"Are you alright?"

Me? Her eyes turned green and she fainted!

"Fine," I lied with a straight face.

He paused as if to consider the topic to change to. "You have a remarkable talent."

"I do?"

"For lying," he said. "Yes, Miss Reed, I see right through you," he said. "You think you don't need anyone, but the expression in your eyes tells otherwise. You say you're just fine, but your shaking hands say otherwise. You cannot fool me."

I looked at my hand on the table and realized that it was shaking. I tried to pull it to my lap, but he was expecting that and grabbed it.

"I saw you on the porch yesterday," he continued. "You were terrified of her. Abbey, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. All heroes are afraid, except for the insane and the idiotic."

For a long time, I didn't say anything; I didn't know how to reply.

I put my chin up but looked down.

Screaming broke the silence. Avalon flew to her feet and ran out the door. She came back about thirty seconds later, and she ran to Chiron. She whispered in his ear and he instructed her to lie down in the infirmary and someone would be around to care for her.

He told me to stay where I was and he left.

When he returned, two children trailed behind him.

The boy wore a blue shirt, a gray sweater vest, simple black pants, and a brown newsboy cap. The girl wore a peach colored dress with a frilly white collar. Her brown curls sat on her shoulders beneath a white cloche hat. The two on them were average height and extremely thin. They both had the same sea-green eyes and sunken faces as if they would have cherub cheeks if they received enough food.

Chiron escorted the boy to a different part of the house and left the girl and me alone.

At first she was very shy; I asked simple questions and she gave simple answers.

"I'm Abbey."

She smiled. "I'm Morgan."

"So... where are you from?"

"Baltimore."

It went on awkwardly like that for some time, but we were soon talking and laughing like we had been friends for years. We must have talked for an hour, maybe two.

She told me all about her life in Baltimore, the boarding house she grew up in, and her family.

"All of the people have been in the boarding house for years. All of us are family, really. You don't get to pick your family, and certain family members, you don't like."

She told about each family. William Howe is a construction worker who lived with his seven-year-old Dorothy. Her mother had died years before.

Betty Smith lives with her eighteen-year-old daughter Joyce and her six-year-old son Charlie. The two women work in a textile factory. Their father had gone to look for work; they aren't sure where because he was always traveling.

Jack Straus lives with his wife Jean, a school-teacher, and their daughters Molly, 12, and Carol, 10.

Recently retired, Henry Elmwood lives with his wife Gloria, and their twenty-five-year-old daughter Maria comes to visit often.

Her mother, she said, is named Chenelle, and her twin brother is named Dylan.

Sam Tugman, the owner, is a lawyer. His wife, who grew up in the house and inherited it, is named Addy, and their daughter is named Samantha.

Chiron came in and spoke to us urgently. "Listen to me, you need to get to the underworld, in Los Angeles. Now, toss one of these into the street and say this-" he said something which I would have no idea how to spell. Somehow, I knew what it meant like it was another language I had learned to speak, but I'm not bilingual. He had said: _Stop, Chariot of Damnation_.

"Good luck." He galloped off out the door.

Dylan was waiting for us at the farm road.

Morgan introduced us. We spoke briefly, but there was no time for conversation.

I took out one of the coins and said the words, tossing it into the street. It melted into the dirt.

My ears reddened as nothing happened, but water seemed to seep up from the ground and made a rectangular puddle. From the puddle formed a taxi. This taxi wasn't black and yellow, but gray. In fact, it seemed to be made of smoke like we could walk right through it. Words on the doors read "GRAY SISTERS."

"What is that?" I asked.

"The Chariot of Damnation," Dylan announced confidently.

Really? "Well," I said, "this should be fun."

We loaded into the back.

Three old ladies turned. As well as the rest of the car, they seemed to be covered in dust. Their hair, clothes, even their skin and lips had a gray color. Mops of gray hair covered their eyes.

"Where to sweethearts?" one said.

"Los Angeles," I replied.

Two things happened:

1) They began to drive.

2) I realized why they call it the Chariot of Damnation.

She slammed on the accelerator, pinning us to the seats. A voice came over the recorder: _Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out buying wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up! _Really? Was that really necessary?

I looked for a seat belt and found a thick black chain, but I pulled it over myself anyway.

Did all cars have chains to hold you back? I don't know; I've never been in a car.

We were going so fast, everything outside the window was nothing but streaks of color.

"Go left!" the middle hag shrieked.

We were all slammed against the right door, which flew open, nearly sending Morgan flying.

"Well, give me the eye, Anger!"

"It's my turn, Tempest!"

"I'm driving!" Anger retorted.

"The driver should have the eye!" Morgan screeched.

"I agree!" Dylan yelled

I wasn't sure I heard right.

"_The_ eye?"

"They all have one eye and one tooth," Dylan explained.

"Each?" I asked, fearing I was wrong. "Please say each."

"Total," he shrieked as we nearly hit the Chrysler Building. The Chrysler building? We had only been driving for a minute, but that was just how fast they were driving.

"Give the driver the eye!" Dylan screamed. "Give the driver the eye!"

"Give me the coin!" the third yelled. "Let me bite it."

"No Wasp, you bit it last time!" cried Tempest.

"GO RIGHT!" Anger screamed.

We crashed into a mailbox and nearly caused a woman to drop a toddler.

"GO LEFT!"

We jumped the curb and scrapped a tree.

It went on like that for about a half an hour.

"Uh, ma'am?" Dylan said. "Where are we right now? How much longer of this?"

"Just crossed into Ohio!" Anger replied. "Maybe three- LEFT! -and a half more hours."

"That's it!" screamed Tempest. "Give. Me. The eye. NOW!"

"No!"

Tempest raised her hand and wacked Anger on the back. Morgan screamed as the eye flew out, hit the front window, and landed in her lap. She kicked her legs until it fell onto the floor. Dylan picked it up and carefully handed it to the driver.

"Not fair!" Anger screeched. "Not fair!"

We sat for about another half hour.

Dylan tried his best to strike up a conversation about myths, but it eventually died out because I wasn't knowledgeable enough. (You have no idea how much that annoyed me.)

We sat in silence, the only noises were the doors being opened for us to become violently ill.

"So," I said, trying to break the silence, "how do you know where to go with no map?"

"We know all the streets in the United States," Wasp bragged.

"Yes, we know lots of things," Anger continued, "Capital of Egypt."

"Cairo," Wasp said.

"Square root of 298,444."

"538!"

They continued to name off all sorts of things they know, some useful, some not. It was all very boring until the last one:

"The location you seek."

"40 48 73 58."

"You twit!" Tempest screamed.

"What do those numbers mean?" I demanded.

"Nothing!" they said in unison.

"No, they mean something!" I insisted. "Tell me."

"Ooh!" she exclaimed trying to change the subject, "One thousand miles! Fifty drachmas and counting."

"Wait! Wait!" Dylan yelled.

I held onto my stomach. "Fifty drachmas? That's all we have."

Tempest slammed on the brakes, sending the car spinning. We all screamed as the car nearly tipped over.

"Read the pamphlet!" Anger yelled at us, throwing a small booklet into my lap. "Out of greater New York City, it's a drachma per twenty miles."

She snatched up the bag of coins.

"Wait there's ten dollars in there too!" I protested.

"Thanks!" Wasp exclaimed. She looked at us scornfully. "Why are you still here?"

As they drove away, I heard one of the hags scream, "We now only serve greater New York!"

We were left on a quiet road along a river. The wind howled and snow whipped around us.

"Where are we?" Morgan asked.

Nobody knew. We had no clue where we were or how to get west.

Lights suddenly flickered. A small building all alone on this little road. The sign above the door read _Meds Drugstore_.

The door swung open. A petite woman stood at the door and beckoned at us to come in. I did not want to go; the place gave me a bad feeling, but the others ran to the door as fast as they could.

"Wait!" They turned, and I ran up to them. "I have a bad feeling about this place. We need to get out of here."

"It'll be fine," Dylan reassured me; I was not reassured. I had no choice but to follow.

The woman put her hands on my shoulders. "Would you like something to eat my dear?"

Her wrinkled skin looked like dried coffee, and her long, elegant hands gripped me shoulders tightly. She wore a long black gown, and a black veil covered her face.

"We don't have any money."

"That's alright," she soothed. "Let me go find something for you."

Dylan and Morgan sat on stools at a counter. Behind them were racks of snacks and medicine.

Once she was gone, Dylan said to me, "Why are you upset? This is wonderful."

I leaned over to him. "I'm not so sure."

"You're just being paranoid."

I racked my brain for myths, but, of course, they were the ones who knew them; they learned them in school.

Think. Think.

It hit me. An old, vague story about a woman with snakes for hair and turned people to stone. Madsa? Meluna? Medusa? Yes, that was it! Medusa.

"Here you go," she said as she returned with hot chocolate for all of us.

I took it, but did not drink.

Dylan began talking to her about ways to get to Los Angeles. Really? Fine, come for something to eat, but tell her our plans?

"Why don't you come with me?" she asked sweetly.

I felt a wave on nausea as I realized she was speaking to me.

"You don't look so well. Perhaps we can find a bit of medicine for you."

She took my arm, pulling me more forcefully than she appeared to be. She pulled me into a back room where she slung me to the floor.

"I know you're not fooled, daughter of Athena."

She ripped off her veil. I screamed and covered my eyes. She grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my feet.

"If you so much as whisper a syllable, I will kill you so fast you won't have time to feel it," she hissed.

I made my knife appear and tried to slash at her, but something bit my wrist. My knife fell to the floor, and I doubled over in pain. I knew the bite was fatal. I had never been scared to die; I had nothing to live for. My mother was out there, and she needed my help.

She picked up the knife and held it to my neck. "We won't have any more _disobedience, _now will we."

She took a wad of cloth and stuffed it in my mouth. "You will die from the poison of course," she said. "The question is how much you will suffer before you die."

She traced her fingers along my face. "And no matter how horrible the pain, no one will hear you scream."

I knew I was done for, but somewhere deep inside I still had hope. I tried to hide how terrified I was.

She dug her talons into my neck and held the knife to my stomach. "Your mother can't save you now. She's imprisoned by her own kind, probably watching right now. Somewhere up there, trapped, terrified, helpless, watching her beloved little daughter die."

The snakes began to snap at my eyes. I felt the hot blood running down my neck as her talons pierced the skin.

Suddenly, she cried out. With one last, deep scratch, she let go of me. I heard a clatter and knew she had dropped my knife. I felt a sudden weight on my wrist and felt my bracelet return. I had my knife; I could just go attack her. No, I had a plan.

I dove in the direction of the clatter and felt around franticly. She grabbed me by the ankle. Perfect.

"No!" I screamed.

She laughed. "I've got you now! Die, daughter of Athena!"

With my eyes closed, I quietly snapped my fingers and held the knife, and without warning, swung my arm in an arc and heard a thud. "It's safe to look," I heard someone say. Medusa's body had turned to dust, but her head remained, covered in her black veil. I saw Dylan standing there with his sword in hand.

I stood and tried to walk to him, but with one step, I collapsed.

* * *

><p>"Abbey!"<p>

I sat up, confused and in pain. Dylan sat on one side of me, holding a cup of water. Morgan sat on the other. We were still in the drugstore.

"What's going on? What happened? Where are we?"

Dylan handed me the glass of water.

"Here," he said. "Calm down. We figured out that we're in Des Moines. Everything's fine now."

"Now?" I questioned. "What about my snake bite?"

Morgan smirked. "We had an interesting afternoon."

"It's about nine o'clock now," Dylan said. "What do you think we should do?"

It was a difficult decision. It could be unsafe to stay, but it would be riskier to leave; we could be in horrible danger or perfectly safe.

"Stay here," I decided. "It's less of a risk."

"Is it safe?" Dylan asked.

"Nothing is safe," his sister pointed out.

"I think it is our _safest_ option," I said.

We stayed for the night, one of us keeping watch.


End file.
